


In Purple Dying

by Scytale



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, Infidelity, Multi, Referenced Mother-Son Relationship, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/F/M, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 23:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scytale/pseuds/Scytale
Summary: "Your death draws near, sister," Ariadne says tenderly.Before the end, Phaedra dreams of her sister.





	In Purple Dying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).

Phaedra dreams that she sits with her sister beneath a pine tree.

Ariadne is naked, save for the leopard's skin draped around her; can see the dark, erect tips of her breasts. Ariadne wears a wreath of ivy on her head as if it were a crown. Her face is younger than Phaedra's now, looking almost the same as it did when Ariadne had fled Crete, except that her beauty has become something cold and terrifying; it casts the rest of the world into shadow.

"You died," Phaedra says.

"I got better," Ariadne says.

In the dream, that doesn't seem so strange, and Phaedra nods.

"Your death draws near, sister," Ariadne says tenderly. Her pale, clever fingers are weaving out of a tangle of ivy. "Your death, and the ruin of Theseus."

"You could stop it," Phaedra says, and she knows what she says is true.

"I could," Ariadne says. She's turned the ivy into a wreath, though it's nowhere as grand as the one she herself wears; she drapes it over Phaedra's head and smiles. "But I too want to see Theseus destroyed."

* * *

All Phaedra remembers of her dream in the morning is a faint feeling of unease. She forgets it soon enough. Phaedra is a practical, busy woman; she cannot worry about her dreams, when she has a household to run — and Athens as well, since Theseus is gone on another one of his sea voyages.

Theseus's heir ought to be of help, but her stepson Hippolytus is useless, always off in the wilderness singing praise to his goddess and doing the gods know what.

Hippolytus. The boy has been of age for a while now, but he has a foolish notion of remaining chaste for Artemis's sake — never mind the implications on his own house. Perhaps, she should try to convince him again; there are families dropping hints that they wouldn't mind a marriage alliance.

She tries to find him. Though it is early morning, he is already out hunting with his friends in the goddess's woods. Phaedra fights down her annoyance and leaves instructions for him to come see her.

He arrives later in the evening, while she is at the loom.

"Mother, you wanted to speak to me?" he says, his voice wary. No doubt he already knows what this conversation will be about.

She looks up, and she forgets her anger; she can no longer remember what she planned to say to him.

Her stepson is beautiful. She's known it before, of course, but now she can't take her eyes away from the fine curve of his beardless cheek, his mulberry-dark eyes, his full and lovely lips. Hippolytus is slender and long-limbed like a maiden, but those long days spent in the woods have given him lithe muscle that belong to no girl. Her mouth goes dry; she feels hot, suddenly, as if she is burning up.

Hippolytus frowns at her, and she wants to kiss the corners of his mouth to make that frown disappear. She wants to make him moan her name in passion.

"Mother?" he says, and she remembers herself.

"You came too late," she says, her heart hammering in her chest. Hopefully, he cannot hear how breathless she is. "I've already forgotten what I was going to say."

She does not want to speak to him about marriage any more.

* * *

"My poor sister," Ariadne says, laying a hand against Phaedra's brow. The touch of her hand is cool. "You have a fever."

"What's happening to me?" Phaedra asks.

"A goddess cursed you. She's angry with your household," Ariadne says, and at Phaedra's questioning look, she laughs. "I don't mean myself. Cyprus."

Aphrodite. "Theseus and I have always offered her sacrifices — " Phaedra begins and then stops.

There is one in their household who offers no sacrifices to Aphrodite, who openly scorns her gifts. Hippolytus. The thought of his name is enough to make her wet between her legs.

"Yes," Ariadne says. "Your stepson offends Aphrodite with his chastity. She'll make you the instrument of her vengeance."

She draws Phaedra down to her lap, and Phaedra obeys. Ariadne loosens Phaedra's hair from its bun and runs her hair through it, stroking her head the way she used to when Phaedra was a girl.

* * *

All Phaedra can think about in her waking hours is what it would be like to take him to her bed. To have him pressed against her, to have his mouth worshipping her. Her body fills with sweet burning whenever she thinks of him.

In her madder moments, she thinks he might feel the same way — why else has he vowed to prefer chaste? Perhaps he is secretly in love with her, his father's wife, the one woman in Athens that he can never have. If she only tell him, perhaps the secret will spill out of him, and she can bring him to her chambers and let him lay her down. He would be gentler, sweeter, than his father, she thinks. The thought almost makes her come.

The rest of the time, she thinks that she will kill herself before she shames herself in such a way.

She feigns sickness so that she needs not leave her bed to see him, but all that does is give her time to think of him, of how he must look as he practices in the gymnasia, his naked muscles rippling. All that does is give her privacy to touch her own breasts and reach her hand between her legs, imagining that it is her stepson touching her.

She prays to Hera for relief, Apollo for healing, and Aphrodite for mercy — she promises them sacrifices. No answer comes.

But then, she already knew that one wouldn't.

* * *

"Please," Phaedra says. "Save me, sister. If you won't do it for me — then think of my babies. Your nephews."

Even in her dreams, she is no longer safe from her desire; her mind torments her with images of her stepson.

Ariadne looks thoughtful.

"No," she says. "I won't stop what is to come. But don't worry, sister — my husband and I will avenge you."

She takes Phaedra's hand and pulls them both to standing. "And I will take the pain away, so you won't feel a thing before the end."

They don't move, but suddenly, they are in a clearing, surrounded by trees. The trees are surrounded by vines; from the vines, purple grapes grow, full and luscious. A man stands before them; he wears a skirt made of a panther's pelt and carries a vine-covered staff. His crown matches Ariadne's.

Dionysus. Phaedra freezes. But the god only looks from Phaedra to Ariadne, and he smiles. For a second, his smile reminds her of Hippolytus's, and her desire surges.

"You can have him," Ariadne says gently. "Come along, sister. We'll make you feel better."

She brings Phaedra forward. Her hand goes to the crown of Phaedra's head and pushes Phaedra down on her knees. Dionysus parts his skirt, revealing his male organ, which is already hard. The sight of it makes her feel wild. She want him the way she wants Hippolytus.

Ariadne's hand presses her head down toward Dionysus's groin, but Phaedra doesn't need the prompting to take the god into her mouth. She's wet and wild between her legs; she wants to taste him as she's never wanted to taste a man, to gulp him down like fine wine. He's so hard, and it feels so good when she runs her tongue over his length; she moans from the pleasure of it. He thrusts deeper into her, until she feels the tip of his member in her throat — until she gags. But even that feels good: a release. The pain blossoms into a deeper, truer pleasure. She takes him deeper into her throat, deeper than she knows she can go.

Her clothes rip around her: Ariadne, tearing them away until Phaedra's breasts and thighs are exposed. Ariadne flicks at one of Phaedra's nipples; her other hand reaching between Phaedra's legs. She drives her fingers hard in between Phaedra's folds. Her hand moves rhythmically, and Phaedra would moan, if her mouth wasn't full; where Ariadne touches, Phaedra feels as if she's made of liquid gold, pleasure and heat building up within her.

With two gods within her, Phaedra comes undone. 

* * *

When she opens her eyes, she feels at ease for the first time in months. Her limbs are loose; the burning between her legs remains, but there's a sweetness to it, and her heart is light. She had a dream, a good one — all she remembers of it is that she made love. Someone moved inside her; she took a man deep into her mouth, deeper than she ever took her husband, and it felt divine. She must have dreamed of Hippolytus.

Her face heats — but not with shame. For the first time, she isn't ashamed of her lust.

She rises from bed and calls her women to dress her. Today, she thinks, she will confess to him. Then, he can love her in his waking hours, as he loves her in her dreams.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The title is from...I have no idea, honestly. I thought it was from Swinburne, but I was wrong.


End file.
